


Burning

by Seilann



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: M/M, näkki-Lalli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seilann/pseuds/Seilann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It wasn't the rash, Lalli told himself. Of course it wasn't; he was immune." Inspired by the lovely art of shoop, Rabbit, and Haiz on the forum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under the Skin

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the "Näkki-Lalli" category of fanworks, because the original art pieces were too stunning not to have stories. :)
> 
> As far as the näkki mythos goes I'm kind of making up my own rules here. I haven't got it all completely worked out yet, but I prefer to keep this story as true to SSSS canon as possible (setting- and character-wise).

It wasn't the rash, Lalli told himself. Of course it wasn't; he was immune. But it was certainly _**a**_ rash, and since he'd discovered it on his back the previous day it had nearly doubled to the size of a handspan.  
  
But it wasn't The Rash. He didn't need to tell Tuuri.  
  
A crack of faint bluish light peeked through the shutter of the tank's side window as he returned to base. Lalli paused outside. Would they have Emil bathe him this morning? It had been a couple days. But the snow was picking up. Surely he could get a pass this time...  
  
Lalli sighed, and with the steamy breath seemed to go the last of his energy. He scratched on the door.  
  
No commotion inside, just slow, heavy footsteps. The Dane. The door groaned open, revealing the wide silhouette against the light of the table lamp to the left. He mumbled something, let Lalli in, and waited for him to remove his outer layers.  
  
Lalli wriggled out of his coat as casually as possible, hiding the wince that escaped as it passed over his back. The rash didn't itch so much as burn at the slightest provocation, even through his thermal. It had made concentration difficult when scouting that night.  
  
More mumbling. A spray of chemicals puffed into Lalli's face, and he barely closed his eyes in time.  
  
Emil did this better.  
  
After the decon a map was pushed his way. Lalli yawned while scribbling that night's findings as clearly as possible for Tuuri to interpret later. Finally Mikkel waved him on, returning to his seat at the desk. The book Lalli had found on their first day had since been joined by several other "interesting sources," all of which lay spread open at the Dane's fingertips. It wasn't the first time Lalli had found him awake before the others — if he even slept at all these days.  
  
The others were still in bed. Lalli snaked his way through Reynir's noodly legs, envying them all their warm, comfortable sleep. By the light of the stove he noticed Emil's hand draped over the side of his cot and into Lalli's space. That happened a lot. Waking up to it the first time, Lalli had shoved the hand away hard enough to slap the braid guy in the face; but now he didn't mind so much. He crawled under the cot, carefully avoiding the hand. His breath hitched as his back grazed the metal beam above him. Emil stirred.  
  
"Lalli?" came the inevitable whisper.  
  
“Mrh."  
  
The blonde turned his head. A warm smile met the stove light, half hidden in his pillow. “God natt, Lalli.”  
  
Lalli hesitated. “Hyvää yötä.”  
  
The burn between his shoulders faded, a little. Emil’s hand stayed where it was, inches away from his own. A few minutes passed in tranquility, until a pair of long legs dropped down from the top bunk with a thud. The captain's voice filled the small cabin, causing a flurry of movement from the others. Within minutes the stove had been turned off and Lalli was alone. He lay perfectly still, eyes closed.  
  
It wasn’t the rash disease. He was immune.  
  
He. Was. Immune.  
  
But what if he wasn’t, suddenly? Or what if this rash was different, but just as bad? Tuuri wasn’t immune at all.  
  
Lalli scrunched his eyebrows. He just wanted to sleep. Since calling on his Luonto he'd been working as usual, but his body still wasn’t recovered from that, let alone everything that had happened since.  
  
_Be quiet, brain._ He couldn’t hurt anyone by staying asleep in his little nook. If the rash didn’t ease by afternoon, he would show Mikkel. To whatever consequence.

 

He opened his eyes in his dream space, stretched — and grimaced. The burn was worse here. Wasting no time, he peeled off his mantle, belt, and tunic. His raft was narrow and the clothes drooped into the water, but he let them.  
  
His own skin felt hot to the touch, and rough. With a wince he brushed his fingers across the rash, and when he pulled them away they were moist and covered in flakes. He looked closer. They were red, as expected of irritated skin; but also kind of… green? The mixed hues reminded him of something… and there was a smell. A confusingly mossy and earthy smell.  
  
Of course pain and sickness always carried across the realms. Your physical self in one was just a reflection of the other. That didn’t mean that things always looked the same — a dog beast with its skin in the real world might be just a skeleton in the spirit world. But Lalli had spent his whole life passing from one side to the other. He could tell when something originated from the spirit world. Every troll, every beast, emanated that stomach-churning quality that Lalli sensed as he stared at his own fingertips.  
  
He thrust his entire arm into the water. Chased it with his other one, trying to rub off the sick.  
  
Onni. He had to get to Onni, see if his cousin could find out anything.  
  
No. He’d never get across the sea. Not without the redhead. And the redhead… was not an option. Tuuri had almost certainly said he wasn’t immune, anyway.  
  
Tuuri. If she caught this…  
  
Lalli pulled his hands slowly from the water. He picked up his tunic, now sopping wet, and shrugged it back on. To his surprise, the wet fabric cooled and soothed his burning back.  
  
It wasn’t just Tuuri. If Lalli could catch this, then immunity didn’t matter. He was a danger to all the others. The big one. The violent one. Emil.  
  
He had failed them all.


	2. In the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil and Sigrun go searching.

“If my cooking concerns you so greatly, Sigrun, you’re welcome to try it yourself.”

“Hey now, I’m just making sure none of my crew gets poisoned today! I need each and every one of them for this salvage. Especially since _you_ dumped half the loot we got this week. Besides that…”

Emil sighed as his captain unleashed a flurry of frustrations at Mikkel. Honestly, the man enjoyed getting reactions out of her too much. This was his third poke since this morning, and for whatever reason the one that had struck home. It didn't help that the snow that morning had been too thick to allow them a book run. Emil grabbed a second bowl from the stack between them and scampered.

“They’re like an old married couple,” he muttered to Tuuri as they scooped up their lunches. “And they’re getting worse about it.”

“I think it’s cute,” Tuuri said.

“Cute? When all they do is argue?”

“Sometimes arguing just means you care.”

Emil opened his mouth to reply, realized he didn’t know how, and closed it again. Maybe it was a Finnish thing? Or just a Tuuri thing, considering her “tough love” with Lalli. Emil preferred kindness.

The cleanser set one bowl on his seat and made for the tank with the other. Lalli wouldn’t appreciate being woken up, but he'd returned too early for breakfast that morning, and with Sigrun demanding he join them in today's speed salvage, lunch was essential.

Emil worried, too. Lalli had been acting flightier than usual the past couple days, dodging even friendly touches and steering far clear of Sigrun. He was always the type to hole up in his own head, but since yesterday he’d been more like drowning in it.

Emil paused at the doorway to smooth his hair with one hand. Always make an effort for your friends. “Lalli,” he called, prancing up the steps of the tank, “wake up and eat something…”

Instead of the usual grumble came silence. Emil tilted to peer under Tuuri’s cot. “Lalli?” Nothing. No shifting blankets, no pale eyes peering from the darkness. Lalli wasn’t there. Emil straightened. Turned, slowly, in a full circle as his eyes scanned the small room. Trudged with reluctant feet past the open door, through the radio room, and into the cab. At first he couldn’t place why he felt so anxious. Lalli had probably just gotten hungry after all. He’d probably just gone outside.

But Emil would have _seen_ him—

A noise made him jump. The cab door. It rattled in its frame against a gust of wind, and Emil stared at it for a long moment without realizing why. Tuuri should have closed that door properly, he thought. He stepped forward to fix it. If not for the wind, no one would have noticed…

Because someone had done it on purpose. They didn’t want to make noise.

Lalli had sneaked out.

“SIGRUN!”

Emil whirled around, crashed into the driver’s seat, and suddenly remembered the bowl he was carrying. Had been carrying. Well, he was still carrying the bowl itself.

“Agh! Whatever!” He sat the empty bowl atop its former contents, now seeping into the chair, and hurried outside. “Sigrun! Lalli’s gone!”

Sigrun was in the middle of poking Mikkel in the chest. She turned, finger still hovering in the space between them. “What? What does that mean?”

“He’s not in the tank and he’s not out here and the driver’s side door was used as an escape route!”

Tuuri, her own bowl cupped in both hands, leapt from her seat. “Lalli wouldn’t do that! He… He must be around here somewhere…”

“But if he did run off,” Sigrun said, “then why?”

“I… I don’t know, but he would definitely have a reason.”

“You don’t think he saw a troll or something, do you?” Emil asked.

“He would tell us.”

“Hm.” Sigrun retracted her finger from Mikkel and put it to her chin. “Tuuri, go check his bed. See what he left behind — rifle, cookie stash, anything. That will tell us how long he plans to be gone. Emil and I will search a half mile radius. If we don’t find him, we may at least be able to pick up a trail.”

“But it’s snowing,” Emil pointed out. “More and more.”

“Then we’d better get a move on.”

 

They started outside the cab door, where the outlines of Lalli’s footprints were already softening with the fresh snow. There was a clear story in them: he’d exited the tank, turned to close the door; gone a dozen steps before turning back; and shuffled in a small circle. Finally he’d turned again, and run.

“There was definitely _something_ worrying the poor twig.” Sigrun squatted for a clearer view of the trail. The sky before them was heavy with coal gray clouds that had swallowed the sun, leaving just a haze of residual light. “Say, viking guy. What reason would a person have to go running into that?”

Emil shrugged his shoulders moodily. “I don’t know. How can I know anything going on in that guy’s head?”

“Aw, come on. You two are pals, aren’t ya?”

“…Thought we were,” he grumbled.

“Psh.” Sigrun had already moved away. Striking a path to one side of the footprints, she gestured Emil to walk the other side. “Back in Dalsnes we had a guy who didn’t say a word to anyone. Ever. The rest of my squad was all, ‘he’s creeeepy!’ and ‘Sigrun, we don’t wanna work with him!’ So it was all up to me to be nice and outgoing and stuff.”

They reached a crossroad and turned left with Lalli’s footprints, still walking to either side. The buildings here were tall and flat-faced, and together with the leaden sky felt oppressively close.

“So of course I did my most best. Stood up for him, let him know there was someone he could lean on. When he wound up torching the mess hall—”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah, turns out he was a bit wrong in the head after all. My point is, our little twig scout isn’t anything like him. After living together this long, we’d know.”

“Your story makes no sense to me.”

Sigrun contorted her face and sniffed. “You’re just too young to understand it.”

“Okay…”

“You don’t really need language to understand people’s hearts. Wasn’t there that old-world saying, actions kill more trolls than words or something? Whoa — rifle up. Now.”

They unslung their weapons. Sigrun gestured Emil to a doorway on his side of the road, and stepped into a narrow alley opposite. He shielded himself and peeked around the crumbling cement corner of the alcove. Nothing in his line of sight. Just Lalli’s footprints, filling up with snow. A handful of car remains dotted the edges of the road, but for the most part he had a clear view all the way down to the end, where a low wall and a stretch of white marked an area free of buildings.

“Is that a lake?” Emil whisper-shouted.

Sigrun had her face scrunched up again. She squinted for a long moment at one of the cars. Emil kept both hands on his gun.

“We may have to go around the long way,” Sigrun said at last. “A one-block detour. This way.”

Emil followed her into the alley. For him, the snow crunched too loudly beneath their feet. Their movement was too obvious in the stillness. They hurried around the corner and into another main street. He hoped they would find Lalli soon.

Or not, he thought, stopping dead in his tracks. Maybe finding things was a bad idea. A very bad idea, with very bad consequences. Like the consequences he and Sigrun had just been noticed by.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay part 2! Sorry this is so slow-moving at the moment. The good news is I've worked out that the whole fic will be five parts.
> 
> Also, it will most likely be shippy. But until that actually happens, I'll leave the tags as is.


	3. Inside the Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes are set, the choice is made.
> 
> This story is now officially shippy, with apologies to readers who aren't into that. ^///^

Lalli was standing at the lake’s edge before he realized his mistake. No gun, no food, no way to keep the others from coming after him. He’d left Tuuri a note, but would she believe him? With her weird sense of humor she might think it was a joke.

The snow fell thickly now. A whisper of wind blew the flakes under his hood, where they melted into the neck of his thermal. His hands rose to his chest almost of their own accord, folding over one another in supplication.

Who could he even call to? Kuutar always answered him, but she was too far away now. Ukko was too great. Vammatar, maybe, could take this sickness away from him.

Dare he try?

He looked out over the frozen lake, breathed deep, and closed his eyes. There was energy around him, and he pulled at it. He drew it into his lungs with the air he breathed. Released it in words that took form by themselves, not made, always there, only needing to be found.

Fire. Ripping through his back. Flaring down his arms. He sparked, discharged, stumbled backward with a crunch of snow. Instinct threw him on his back, but the impact made him scream in pain. A light show erupted behind his eyelids. With the last of his sanity, Lalli writhed out of his coat and thermal top, flung them away, and collapsed again. The snow hissed beneath his skin.

He lay there for a long time just breathing.

There was a legend, back home. Of the lonesome creature that haunted the shores of Saimaa. From the front it was said to be beautiful, while from the back its true form showed, unreachable by glamour. This creature, the näkki, would lure victims into the water and drown them. For food, for fun, no one really cared to speculate. But some had been convinced that the näkki was human once. And moreover, a mage.

Is that what he was becoming? He was almost certain he’d rather die.

Lalli raised one arm over his head. The bog-colored rash now covered his shoulders.

The rat-a-tat of automatic rifle fire broke into his thoughts. Somewhere on the road above and behind him, a familiar voice cut through the silent world. “Sigrun, hjälp!”

That stupid Swede! Lalli should have known. If Emil wasn’t blowing up buildings or setting his own hair on fire, of course he had to be ruining someone else’s escape plan. Lalli clapped his hands over his ears. Emil was the last person he wanted to see now. The last person he wanted to be seen by. Anyone else, and he could just leave. Even Tuuri. To protect her, leaving would be so easy. But Emil…

He was selfish when it came to Emil.

The gunfire stopped, as did the voices. Silence again. Lalli’s heart skipped a beat. He had to see, he had to just _make sure_ …

In seconds he had covered the distance to the wall, scaled it, and ducked down the other side behind a half-eroded car. In doing so he got one good glance of the situation: Emil, reloading; Sigrun, resorting to the knife; and a huge mass of rat beasts, practically a single entity, surging like waves around their feet.

Had Lalli woken them passing through? It was the dead of winter; beasts shouldn’t even be active! Rat beasts in particular should have been in a hole somewhere, gooped up together against the cold. On the other hand, wake just one, wake the whole colony. Anything could have caused this.

Another quick burst of shots rapped out before the captain cut them off with a shout. Emil retorted with some argument, but stopped shooting.

Good. A gun wouldn’t work against a colony anyway.

But neither would a knife.

Lalli stepped out from behind the car. His left hand closed into a fist in the middle of his chest. “Tulehan jo tuekseni…”

The fire caught him again. He gritted his teeth and kept going.

“Lalli! Sigrun, där!”

Eyes shut. Keep saying the words. Ignore the fire. Ignore the fear. His Luonto leapt forward. He couldn’t see it. He was burning.

 

 

Weakness and pain were his only sensations. Part of him must have been lying on the snow; some small areas that didn’t sting from the rash. But most of him was on something else…

Some _one_ else. His head and neck rested on Emil’s leg. The cleanser’s coat had been messily wrapped around his upper body to protect him from the cold. A warm hand covered his eyes and forehead.

But not just warm; healthy, uninfected. A simple touch could undo that. What would it be like to give that touch, to watch the agonized spirit peel slowly away from its wasting flesh?

Lalli bolted upright, earning a startled shriek from Emil. The cleanser recovered quickly enough to hide his embarrassment behind the usual font of Swedish babble, but Lalli was not in the frame of mind to humor him.

“Idiot!” he cut in. Didn’t Emil see? Was he trying to ignore the reality of the situation? His coat would have to be thrown away now. He’d have to be quarantined in that smelly little closet in the tank for two weeks. And that would be the end of it only if he was lucky.

Emil’s hands were up in entreaty. He was trying to explain something. When it became clear Lalli wasn’t going to continue yelling at him, he even started miming.

Sigrun, tank, coming now.

No.

His legs weren’t working right. When he stood, they bowed out from under him so that Emil had to come to the rescue. Lalli pushed him away, noticing as he did so that his arms were almost completely covered in that sickly green. Couldn’t Emil see it?

“ _Look_ ,” Lalli ordered, arm up in the very small distance between them.

Emil looked. His eyes saucered. The little sputters Lalli had been waiting for finally passed his lips. He grabbed Lalli’s yet-human hand in both of his.

No, idiot. Don’t look concerned for me. Look scared. RUN. Why aren’t you like a normal person?

Lalli tried to pull away. Emil didn’t let him. He just kept babbling his sweet, ignorant Swedish nonsense.

The tank would be here any moment. Lalli had to leave, but Emil had a grip like iron.

Impressions too quick and vague to be called thought flashed through his head. Actions, words, possibilities. Urges. The urge to break free not just of Emil but of his own skin; to bury himself deep in the snow and sleep forever where he couldn’t hurt anyone; to give that fatal touch to Emil’s perfect skin and watch the sickness take hold.

Emil might already be infected, anyway.

Lalli trembled. The impressions blurred together, and suddenly there was no right or wrong, there was only desire. He found his lips on Emil’s hand. The Swede’s eyes were so wide in shock, so clear and blue. His grip slackened.

Lalli took his chance and broke away. Emil reached after him, but he wasn’t there any more. He was running. He was over the wall and crunching down the frosty lake shore and sliding onto the ice. He was bolting at top speed away from Emil’s desperate calls. Away from everyone he could hurt.

When the ice broke, he almost felt triumphant. Now there was no way they could follow. He would die, frozen, and the sickness would die with him.

Except his brain had less control over his body than he’d thought. His arms and legs flailed through the dark water on their own and he fought against the ceiling of ice for a way out. He should have been cold; he wasn’t. The disease on his skin was like a blanket. His lungs should have been ready to explode; all he felt was a dull ache.

It felt like minutes before his feet found purchase in the muddy shallows, and he crashed up through the ice completely disoriented. He was surrounded by rubble, the ruins of some building that had toppled over into the edge of the lake. On the other side, Sigrun dragged a struggling Emil away from the hole Lalli had made falling in.

He watched them go. The wind picked up, and the evening shadows slipped the ash gray world into a haze of darkness.


	4. On the Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kind of angsty interlude.
> 
> Not super happy with this one, but got other things I need to focus on so just wanted to get it out of my system. Fortunately today's a holiday so I was able to actually write. :)

Emil was devastated, but Sigrun raged.

They had trudged back to the tank in silence, each step away from Lalli breaking Emil even more. He didn’t think. He didn’t feel. He just put one foot in front of the other, again and again. Eventually he realized they were inside, in the warmth, and the tank was moving beneath them. And that was when Sigrun’s war with the universe began.

“What the hell was that, Emil?”

When he didn’t answer, she grabbed him by his coat collar.

“I said, what the hell was that? That whole mess — what was it?!”

He stared back at her, glassy-eyed. Mikkel pulled her away. “Let’s sit down a moment, Sigrun, and all catch our breath.”

“You—” She rounded on him. “You knew he was infected with something! As soon as Tuuri translated that note you should have—”

“What? Found you so you could let him run away?” Mikkel’s calm voice rumbled so that Emil could barely hear it over the engine.

“I would NEVER abandon my crew.”

Emil couldn’t take any more. He turned, tottered into the back room, and sat stiffly on his cot. Sigrun kept to her warpath. Mikkel emanated sensibility. The tank bumbled onward.

Lalli falling through the ice. Lalli scowling, eyebrows drawn in a way only he could manage, as he held up his arm. Lalli’s eyes never leaving Emil’s as he kissed his hand.

A long time later, after Reynir had given up trying to be supportive, when Mikkel’s shadow had finally stopped with the questions to leave him in peace, Emil came around to find Tuuri on the adjacent cot. He hadn’t even noticed the tank had stopped, let alone her walking right past him. She sat with her shoulders hunched, a hand to either side of her for support, and her eyes staring over the bridge of her mask toward the floor. A crumpled, tear-spattered paper rested on her lap.

“I’m sorry,” Emil said. Not because he was capable of feeling that, or of feeling at all, just then. But because it was the right thing to say. It was part of the script, an immutable procedure that saved him from actually having to act on his own.

She didn’t reply at first. When her mouth finally opened behind the inked-on cat face of the mask, her voice was small and even more muffled than usual. “It’s not your fault.”

“It pretty much is.”

Again, no reply. Emil pressed his fingertips against his chest, where his heart had begun to ache. How long had it been since Lalli kissed those fingers?

“I should have taken his hand,” Emil murmured.

“Huh?”

“Just once. He always left his hand right next to mine when he slept… Like, like he was telling me to take it. I almost did last time. I was this close, but…” What an idiot. Mooning around for weeks, unable to express himself in even the simplest way. Now he’d never get another chance.

Tuuri’s gaze shifted to the note in her lap. No sign of judgment. “I should have been more patient with him. If he’d known that he could trust me, he wouldn’t have run off. It’s my fault.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I know him that well, at least!” A tear escaped; she squeezed her eyes shut. “I wish Onni were here. I wish — I wish I’d never dragged Lalli on this expedition to begin with.”

They sat in silence for a long, long time. Sigrun’s voice from the other room had calmed now, and Reynir’s popped up in short bursts, which Mikkel took his time translating. “By all means, if the troll bait thinks he can help us by sleeping, let him,” Sigrun grumped at one point. “At least he’ll be out of my way.”

“I think there’s an answer in one of these books, if I can decipher it.”

“Not that again. Look, you skald-type people _always_ think you can solve _every_ problem by _reading_. Reading doesn’t solve DEATH.”

The word was a battering ram against Emil’s barely composed facade. Tuuri actually flinched. “If there is a rash contagion capable of affecting Lalli,” Mikkel replied, “It can affect anyone here.” There was a shuffling of pages. “Considering the circumstances, I’m sure the bosses will call off this expedition. And should we return to the known world infected with something never encountered before… Well, I’m sure the government wouldn’t stop at simply quarantining us.”

Sigrun cursed. Emil didn’t care to let Mikkel’s implication seep into his mind. His world had already ended; what did he care about the future?

“Do you think…” Tuuri started.

“What?”

“Do you think L… that he’s really…”

Emil looked at her and knew what she wanted to ask. _Do you think he’s really dead?_ Something sparked in his brain. Did he? Much as Emil fussed over Lalli, the scout had proven time and again that he could handle himself. He thrived in situations where Emil would likely fall on his face, both metaphorically and literally speaking. Sigrun had let Emil wait on the ice long enough that Lalli had to have drowned, but... what if he came up somewhere else?

Emil felt a little warmth returning to his frozen body. “No,” he said, making Tuuri look up. “Actually, I’m sure he’s alive.”

 

 

Lalli sat at the edge of the dream sea. He came here often now — now that the sun even in his dream space hurt him; now that the monsters lurking under the water avoided him in fear. It was a quiet, comfortable place. Usually.

“Lalli!”

He flinched at his own name. The soft _slap, slap_ of feet on water neared, and the redhead appeared from the mist. Reynir paused a short distance away, suddenly awkward now that he’d found his target, and gave a little wave. “Hi!”

“Go away,” Lalli said in a voice that he no longer recognized. Thicker, gravelly. What had his old voice sounded like?

How long had this new voice been his?

“Look, I know you don’t like me visiting,” Reynir said, “and I know you don’t like hearing about the others, but this is really important.”

Lalli flexed his fingers. His new fingers. They were more like claws, really. He hadn’t tried them out yet, but maybe an Icelandic mage would make good target practice.

“Because, and just listen before you attack and end up underwater again, Emil is looking for you.”

That name froze Lalli to the spot. “What?”

“Okay, so he was babbling again but there was something about spring and no time and asking me to please not tell the captain. Tuuri tried to translate for me but Mikkel came in and they both had to hush up. Emil’s been gone almost a full day now and I really think Sigrun is starting to catch on—”

“He won’t find me,” Lalli said. It was more to convince himself than Reynir.

“Don’t you want him to?”

Lalli looked at Reynir with eyes that ached even in the half light. He could see every freckle, every strand of obnoxiously red hair. Just step closer, he thought. Step close enough for me to trace a finger across that freckled face. Would that red hair turn green once the infection took hold?

“Leave,” Lalli said. “Before you catch my disease.”

“Oh, I actually have good news about that!” Reynir fisted his hands in front of him with excitement. “You see there’s this book that Mikkel has been translating from—”

“Leave.” Lalli stood, his fingers crackling with green energy.

“Yeah but—”

“LEAVE.”

Reynir dodged the blast, and didn't even have the courtesy to fall into the water. “Yeesh. Fine. I’ll come back when you’re feeling better, okay?” He took a step back. “It really is good news,” he muttered, turning away. Within seconds, he’d disappeared into the mist again.

Lalli sat down on the rocks. His eyes hurt. His skin burned. It was always like that when he used magic these days. He slid into the water, letting it sooth him. After a wary moment he closed his eyes and went under completely.

How much time had passed since he was in the waking world? Days, weeks? If spring was approaching, a long time indeed. Did he still have a body to return to? Would it be as ravenous as his spirit had become? If it was still alive, he couldn’t let Emil find it. It was obvious what he'd do: take it back to the tank, revive it, pull Lalli and his dangerous urges back among them.

Lalli wouldn't let that happen. He would keep his friends safe, one way or another.


	5. Of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil takes matters into his own hands to get Lalli back.

“Sigrun.” Mikkel waited a moment to make sure his captain had heard him. She was sitting alone in the cab, elbow propped against the window and cheek propped against her fist. When her eyes flicked his way, he stepped across the threshold. “Sigrun, how long are you planning to feign ignorance of Emil’s disappearance?”

She looked toward the sunset again. “So you knew, too, huh?”

“The poor boy has been nothing if not obvious.” He raised one hand to lean against the door frame. “What are you going to do?”

She didn’t answer.

“Sigrun, the snow is almost all melted. They’ll send someone for us soon, and we’ll have to leave — with or without him.”

“The dweeby guy and downer woman are his relatives, right? They won’t let him get left behind.”

Mikkel paused to study her a moment. Usually Sigrun was an open book, a pendulum swinging between two polar motivations: adventure on the one hand, the safety of her crew on the other. But even Mikkel had trouble reading her deeper than that sometimes. “You’re still hoping he’s right about Lalli.”

“Aren’t _you_?” she snapped. “There are three possible ways to conclude this mission, Mikkel. One, by going back minus a team member — with another two practically given up on life. Two, by retrieving said team member alive and letting everyone have a happy ending.”

“Three,” Mikkel finished, “by losing yet another team member to poor judgment.”

“I’ll go after him. Soon.” She stood, one hand absently moving to rest on the scabbard of her knife. “If he’s — if they aren’t back by dawn, I’ll go after him.”

 

This was not a bad idea, Emil told himself. Again. He wasn’t yet at the point where that felt like a lie, but… well, it would help if he wasn’t up to his knees in icy bog water.

Tuuri had been the one to name this park as a place Lalli might hide, circling it on the map along with half a dozen others around Copenhagen. For weeks, she and Emil had consulted each other in quick whispers every chance they got. Which basically meant every moment that both Sigrun and Mikkel had their backs turned, though those times were few and brief. The map was worn soft and wrinkly from being stuffed into one or the other’s coat sleeve just in time to not be seen.

The good news was that two circles had already been crossed out, and it was only the first day. Sure, Emil probably should have stopped while he was ahead. The sun was already getting low. But the thought of leaving Lalli out there “just one more night” had plagued him for weeks already, and damned if he wasn’t going to try at least a little for his best friend.

Well, so much for that idea. Emil forged on through the muck, finally found the end of it, and stomped off as much as he could. On autopilot he patted his pockets, making sure the map and Tuuri’s letter to Lalli (their only way to explain, now that Reynir had failed) were both dry. Then he checked his gun. A second rifle-shaped object hung strapped across his back perpendicular, but as that was wrapped in cloth he didn’t bother with checking it.

Ninety years ago, the spot where Emil stood had probably been a grassy field. Now it was a forest. Branches grew between the arm and torso of a statue — a half-collapsed male figure, black with mold. The head lay half buried in the frozen earth nearby. A beautiful sunset filtered through the trees, marking the end of a bright, almost warm day. Actually, it was warm compared to previous days — good, because that meant Emil might not freeze tonight; but also bad, because every other reason.

“I know how you feel,” he told the statue. Even as he did, the sunlight seemed to wane. Time to find shelter. He considered the feasibility of lodging in a tree, which quickly devolved into a consideration of how many incendiaries he would have to set around the trunk and how exactly he would be able to trigger them from above, a concern which then vanished from his mind as he saw the old caretaker’s hut.

It had been fenced in, once, but the wooden posts were all but dust now. The hut itself was little more than a single, mostly intact wall and a collapsed ceiling, probably thanks to the corroded husk of a small delivery truck that someone had driven into it. But the combination of truck and ceiling looked like they might just provide a safe place to squeeze into.

Emil played it safe by striking a fuse and tossing one of his mini charges in through the corroded corner of the truck. Moments later a flash and loud thunk erupted back at him. Then silence. He crawled in.

“You see, Lalli, I’m doing quite well for myself.” He turned his nose up at the smell inside, but nonetheless cozied up into a corner. “No need for you to protect me. No need for Sigrun to come chasing after me. This time, _I’m_ going to do the hero thing.”

While his eyes took their sweet time adjusting to the dark, he removed the weapons from his back and unwrapped the second one by feel. He checked to make sure the fuel compartment was screwed on tightly; that the feeding tube was secure. The candle for it was stuffed into a pocket of his bag, too bulky (and pink) for him to attach before actually having to use it. He’d had to make the weapon hastily, without any of the proper materials, but he knew it would work when the time came. Probably.

Night took hold. Emil thought of Lalli, who right now could be anywhere, alone, cold. Emil could be just a stumble away from finding him. Or he could be miles away.

“I hope you’re getting enough sleep.” It had always been Emil’s habit to talk to Lalli, even knowing the Finn couldn’t understand a word. Recently, he talked even knowing that Lalli couldn’t hear him. “I hope you’re warm, and safe. And that you’re not a troll and don’t want to eat me when I find you.”

Speaking of food. Emil dug into his pack and pulled out his dinner portion of venison jerky. Thank goodness _one_ of Sigrun’s coping methods after Lalli’s disappearance had brought food to the table.

Emil froze with the jerky hanging from his mouth. Something was outside. He reached, slowly, for his rifle. Then he paused again.

Singing. Someone was singing. In a voice he didn’t recognize and a language he couldn’t make out.

And he knew it was Lalli.

 

He was awake. He was alive. He was burning.

The winter hadn’t killed him after all, though his body shuddered with weakness and hunger. He felt around in the darkness, unfolded himself from the tight space he'd been curled up in. It reeked of mildew and rotting vegetation, but trolls and spirits alike seemed to overlook it, so he had made it his hideout. To avoid someone who was actively searching for him, though, the place just wouldn’t serve.

A wall of compacted snow met his fingertips in a square opening just big enough for a child. Lalli pushed, and the wall broke like spun sugar. Spring was indeed close. The white that had caked the playground when he went to sleep now lingered only in slushy patches, or in sheets of ice where the sun couldn’t reach. They glowed in the moonlight as though pointing the way. Lalli followed.

The lake. Not the same one he’d crashed into all those weeks ago, he remembered. A bigger one. The water’s smooth surface beckoned him, promising freedom. He stepped in, let the chill seep through his clothes and skin, right into the bone. A sigh escaped his lips.

He didn’t know when he started singing. His head still felt murky and full of those half-grasped impressions that weren’t really thoughts. All that registered was the urge to open his mouth.

“Lalli!”

He clamped down mid-word and spun in the water. A white coat, garishly blonde hair, and blue eyes overwhelmed his vision. Gut wrench. _How did he find me already?_

The discordant urges sprang to war in him immediately. Flee. Attack. Infect.

Emil spoke to him. He knew better than to shout, kept checking around for trolls, but his voice carried over the surface of the lake. What was he trying to convey? Concern? Fear? So annoying. As though Lalli didn’t feel those things, too. As if that wasn’t the whole reason he’d run away.

The annoyance gave him a new urge: to make Emil shut up.

 

The sight of him, Emil thought. His clothes in tatters, his cheeks more prominent than ever — and hell, what was wrong with those eyes? They were supposed to be gray like pale wood smoke, not filmed over with sickly yellow-gold. How could he even see?

Emil paused on the bank. “Lalli, are you okay?” His answer was a stare. He waded into the water. “Listen, everyone’s worried about you. You’re not even contagious! If you come back with me, Mikkel can fix you up, okay?”

Still with the staring. Except now Lalli was coming over to the shore, and the combination of the stare and the lifeless way he walked sent Emil into shivers.

“You still recognize me, right? Please. Lalli.”

 

The Swede kept talking. Lalli paused, moved forward, and paused again. What was it, his next action? Which urge would be the one that pushed too hard? The thing he wanted to do. The thing he should do. And these raged against what the sickness wanted him to do, an incessant cacophony of _want want want do it do it —_

 

Emil reached for Lalli’s arm. Lalli shoved him away. It was almost satisfying to hear the chatter cut off as he hit the water with a splash.

For a moment, Emil appeared too shocked to move. That didn’t last long. With a look of horror he pulled a clenched hand out of the mud to inspect something that Lalli hadn’t noticed him holding: a note, waterlogged beyond all legibility.

Odd, how seeing that look stopped Lalli. How it stirred just a wisp of a memory, of an emotion. Lalli knelt before his once best friend. He remembered those blue eyes watching over him. He remembered when that face hadn’t looked so drawn and pale. He reached out to fix Emil’s hair and found himself leaning closer.

“L-Lalli…?”

Emil’s lips were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

 

Lalli was kissing him. Normally, Emil would be blushing three shades of tomato. His heart should have been flying. If nothing else, he should have been such an embarrassing mix of shocked and happy as to do something completely idiotic, like flailing and knocking his crush into the lake.

But Lalli was kissing him, and he couldn’t breathe. The kiss tasted like earth, and iron, and water and life and death. Emil nearly recoiled. But stronger than the unpleasantness was the necessity of keeping Lalli close. Don’t let him run away again. Emil raised one hand, ran his fingers along Lalli’s frozen cheek and into his hair, and cupped the back of his head.

Keep him here.

But he couldn’t hold the kiss forever. The next step had to begin.

 

This was a bad idea, Lalli thought. Selfish. Fire. Infection. He had to stop. Before he could do any more damage, he had to make Emil see. To make him understand one way or another that there was nothing left to save. No more mistakes. He pulled away.

 

Dammit, out of time. Emil clasped Lalli’s hand. “Come with me. Please don’t fight and just come.” He knew Lalli didn’t understand the words, but that was okay. He would understand later. Just please get moving now.

 

Now Emil was pulling him up the bank. Words, snowflakes on a bonfire. He had to break away—

 

Just a little further, Lalli. Please.

 

Just pull your damn hand away and run.

 

Please don’t run please please please—

 

Mind racing.

 

Words racing.

 

Fire.

 

Emil spun around as the ground erupted in flame at Lalli’s back. The trap was sprung. In a blink he had his homemade flamethrower at hand, the pink kitty candle wedged in place in front of the nozzle. “I’m sorry, Lalli!”

The scout doubled up in pain and shock, hands clapped over his ears. He tried to dart sideways. Emil shot a line of flame into his path, then to the other side. His breath hitched. Finally he turned and ignited their only remaining escape.

_I am a cleanser. I am a professional. I can get us out alive._

Lalli screamed. The fire couldn’t reach him — they had enough buffer to breathe and to not bake — but the parasitic growth on his back and arms couldn’t take the heat. He clawed at it. It crumbled, glowing a sickly yellow as it died, and for a hopeful moment Emil saw Lalli’s skin as it should be.

Until the growth surged up again with a vengeance.

“No, no!” Emil said. He moved to restrain Lalli’s flailing arms. Maybe he wasn’t seeing right. Mikkel said heat would work! Okay granted, he’d never imagined how Emil might try to go about it, but—

The hiss that Lalli produced actually sounded over the flames. Emil barely had time to register it before finding himself on the ground, cold hands clawing at him, scrambling to hold him down so their owner could buy time to get past.

“Lalli don’t!” Emil tried to get a grip on him. “I’m trying — to — help you—”

Yellow eyes flashed in the firelight, glaring down at him. Emil froze, still holding Lalli’s hands away, as the yellow seemed to fade. The color drained, leaving only silver.

Emil laughed in disbelief. “Lalli—”

The silver darkened. Black voids.

Emil was panicked enough to know this was a bad sign; but not so panicked that he couldn’t become more-so. Said panic convinced him that Lalli needed to be thrown as far away as humanly possible.

For Emil this wasn’t far. Seconds bought, only. He flipped onto his stomach. The circle of fire was fed on little more than dirt and fuel, and already dying.

Hell. What now? More fire? Sounds good. Where’s the flamethrower?

“E-Emil.”

He stopped, fingers grasping at the dirt, and peered over his shoulder with dread. “Lalli?”

Black eyes stared back at him. Black liquid ran from the corners of them and down the sides of Lalli’s nose. Blackness covered his neck and arms like soot. Lalli sat there, holding his arms away from him, looking lost.

Looking like himself, just after a fight with a chimney.

Emil sat up. “Does… Does that mean it’s dead?”

Of course Lalli didn’t answer. Instead he dragged one hand down the opposite arm, scraping away the former spores to reveal pale human skin. With the same hand, he reached up to wipe his face. “Don’t do that!” Emil jumped up, a handkerchief already fetched from his pocket. “Va’fan. What is it with you and stuff coming out of your eyes?”

Lalli, as though to show that he understood more than Emil thought, snatched the handkerchief and pressed it to his eyes himself with a “Hmph.” He seemed to have his pride back, in any case.

“You’re really okay?” Emil brushed some hair away from the Finn’s face. “I can’t believe I found you. I mean, I hoped I would, and that you’d be okay, but it’s been weeks and you’ve been in the Silent World, alone, and—”

“Olen kunnossa.” Lalli’s eyes opened. They still weren’t quite his eyes; they were still dark and liquidy like spilled ink. But they were already lightening as the infection seeped out of them and onto the handkerchief. They met Emil’s gaze with that casual intensity so characteristic of their owner. “Olen kunnossa.”

A reassurance. Emil relaxed his shoulders. For the first time in weeks, a smile touched his face. “Good. It’s good to have you back.”

For this, he was rewarded with something he had never seen before: Lalli giving a smile of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took forever. Life, and whatnot. I hope this installment was worth the wait.
> 
> I know I said this fic would be five chapters long, but oops, my fingers slipped and started writing an epilogue. (I mean seriously, that *points up* as an ending? Oh heavens no.) So that'll prolly be up later this week. Blame Minna. I just can't get her characters out of my head. ;)


	6. Of the Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of closure, and a lot of warmth.

“Well would you look at that,” Sigrun said. “He found him.”

“What?” Mikkel’s head popped into the cab. Sigrun had refused to leave, instead waiting and watching all through the long night for her protege to return.

Through the frost-covered windshield, two familiar figures drew wearily closer. Mikkel squinted. Lalli was wearing Emil’s coat, but the little skin remaining exposed seemed to bear no trace of a rash.

“I’ll get the decontaminants ready,” he said. Just in case.

A squeal sounded from the bunks in back. Something thudded, and protests in Icelandic went unanswered as Tuuri appeared in the doorway. “Is it Emil? Is he back? Is Lalli with him?”

“Yes.”

“Yes to which one?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mikkel answered. And this time he couldn’t help but smile.

Tuuri squealed again and threw her arms around him.

 

Mikkel’s examination was thorough — very thorough. Emil knew Lalli wouldn’t come out smiling. But after a long hour of waiting, and shifting around, and waiting some more, the sight of relief on his friend’s face was enough to put a smile on his own. That and the cookie Lalli seemed preoccupied with.

“He’s all clear,” Mikkel announced, wiping his hands. “I’ve tested his blood, and while he definitely had some form of the illness it’s no longer active. It was a first-generation variant, fortunately. Much weaker than those we’ve known until now.”

“Weaker?” Emil pulled Lalli down to sit on the bed between him and Tuuri, who latched on to her cousin’s wiry shoulders. “But it still had such a powerful effect.”

“It’s still the illness, after all. We may have to delay our return to the known world for a few weeks, just to be sure it doesn’t reappear.”

“But you said he wasn’t contagious,” Tuuri said. She stopped short of pulling off her mask.

“The _book_ said he’s not contagious. And while it was right about the heat sensitivity…” Mikkel threw a pointed look at Emil. “it would be utterly reckless to go about assuming that the book is an authority.”

Emil looked at his feet. Sigrun, who had been sitting with her boots up on the radio controls, thumped them down on the floor. “Alright already. Emil knows he went against orders. I already gave him septic duty for the remainder of the expedition.”

“A considerably light punishment.”

“He got our little scout guy back. Anyway, there’s something else that concerns me more, and _I_ think we should take care of it ASAP.”

 

“That’s the place?” she asked a couple hours later.

Tuuri translated. Lalli nodded.

“Then let’s light the sucker!” was the next, unnecessary, translation.

A house like any other sagged before them, the remnants of its once colorful orange paint evident only where the second floor overhung the first. The courtyard to one side was big enough to accommodate their tank, which is why Lalli had been poking around there in the first place. Something about the building had felt wrong, though. It felt wrong even now, in the daylight.

Beside him, Emil said something and smiled. He was still holding that ridiculous assemblage of spare parts that he called a flamethrower. The pink cat candle half-melted onto the front could actually have been considered an aesthetic improvement, that was how ugly it was. But Lalli had to give Emil credit: the thing worked. Had saved his life, even.

Mikkel doused the front of the building with gasoline, his face the usual combination of focus and resignation to their captain’s whims.

Lalli didn’t hate this whim.

Sigrun gave a shout as Mikkel rejoined them. Emil answered immediately, soldierly, and stepped forward with the flamethrower.

The six of them watched as the fire licked the fuel off the century old wood. Moments later it was gorging itself, dancing across the facade, racing across the roof. A couple of explosives through the broken windows sent black smoke pouring out to turn gray in the sunlight.

 

Somewhere deep, deep inside, the dormant body of what had once been an unwitting mage shuddered in the heat. It’s spirit was too far away, had forgotten how to return. But even from the dream sea she could feel what was happening. It had been such a long time. She closed her eyes, waiting for peace.

 

“Lalli, Sigrun says we should clear off now. The noise could draw something’s attention.”

Lalli glanced sidelong at his cousin. In the very corner of his vision, three tall figures were already making their way back toward the tank. “Okay.”

Tuuri pouted. “Are you doing that thing where you purposely lag behind?”

He offered her a head pat as apology.

“Well then don’t you _dare_ let anything happen to you again, understand?” As she stomped off, he heard “Emil, vakta honom!”

And an answer of “Okay?”

And finally they were alone.

Lalli had never been sure what irony was, but the word sprang to mind now as he watched the fire blaze high and chaotic, feeling at peace for the first time in months. Billows of heat pushed against his face, and in between them the cold felt more intense. He felt Emil return to his side. A nudge at his fingertips. He uncurled his hand and Emil’s fingers entwined with his.

Finally.

The sweet gibberish came to his ears not long after, the Swede’s tone a mixture of warmth and uncertainty. He looked over. Emil was facing him, but his eyes couldn’t quite manage to pull themselves up from the ground. A faint pink tinted his cheeks.

Lalli wasn’t having any of that. He took a breath and put on his determined face. “Hey.”

Maybe not so delicate, but it made Emil stop talking and look at him.

“I can’t… understand you,” Lalli said. This was so pointless. So pointless, but he had to say it. He had to take this first step. “But I will, one day. I promise.” What did that look on Emil’s face mean? Confusion? Or just shock at the fact he was actually speaking? “O-One day,” he repeated. “Until then… Until then…”

Stupid words. Even in his mother tongue, even knowing that Emil couldn’t understand, couldn’t judge, he just couldn’t articulate his meaning.

But there was one good thing about words: he and Emil had never needed them.

 

This time Lalli gave some warning in the form of a hand on Emil’s cheek. It was almost a plea, really; had he noticed Emil’s reaction to the first kiss? But Emil didn’t need to be pleaded with. Lalli was alive and well and right in front of him and who knew — who knew how long that would last? So Emil made the move this time. Leaned in, looked up, met Lalli’s lips with his own. Pulled back, suddenly doubting. He wasn’t much of a kisser.

Lalli didn’t seem to care. Their noses bumped, making Emil smile into the next kiss. Warmth. Elation. Something nearly indescribable swelling in his chest. He thought he might die right then and there, and not from embarrassment for once.

A shrill blast of noise broke them apart. Sigrun. Sigrun in the cab, leaning well into Tuuri’s personal space to hit the horn. Tuuri sitting very straight in the driver’s seat with a blush across her face. The vague outlines of Mikkel and Reynir behind them.

Emil turned a shade very near scarlet. “They didn’t just see all that, did they? ...Right?”

“Come _on_ , lovebirds!” Sigrun called impatiently. “We’ve only got two weeks to cash in on this mission!”

Swedish curses warbled through the chilly air, even as Lalli caught up Emil’s hand and dragged him back toward the tank.

These two weeks would probably be both the longest and the shortest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. :) Hopefully this explains all those things that I knew as I was writing the other chapters but apparently forgot to weave in. If anything isn't clear plot-wise, please do mention it in the comments -- as well as any other kind of constructive criticism.


End file.
